


Paul Sevier Prompts

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Midnight Special (2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut, Stalking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: A collection of short Paul Sevier prompts.
Relationships: Paul Sevier/Reader, Paul Sevier/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are short prompts posted over on my [tumblr](https://direnightshade.tumblr.com/).

Paul’s been staring at the white board for the better part of an hour now, eyes only moving to read each line of his own writing as he analyzes the target data, searching for any sort of anomalies. And _you_ , you’ve been staring at _him_ for most of that hour, watching the way his lips purse when he slips into deep thought or the way that his hand reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck as if to scrub away those frustrations of his.

Slowly, you rise up out of your chair and take small, deliberate steps in his direction, an old, dried up pen in your hand. He can see your movement in his peripheral, though he’s so caught up in his work he barely registers your voice when you say his name once you’ve reached his desk. It’s only when you say it louder, with more conviction that he snaps out of his thoughts and looks over to you, blinking in rapid succession to ward off the eye strain when he does so.

“Hm?”

“I just asked if I could borrow another pen,” you say, holding up the one that no longer works.

You’ve been doing this for a while now, borrowing pens from him and using them all up much faster than one normally would, just so you could have some excuse to come to him and talk. He’s not much of a talker, sure, but you still enjoy being in his presence nonetheless. And he notices, of course he does, how quickly you go through your pens, but he’s spared you up until now, hasn’t dared pointed out that he knows your little game.

He thinks he likes it; likes the attention you give him, even if he feels he’s not up for much talking most times. It’s still nice to be appreciated, he thinks.

But maybe that’ll change today, here, now.

Paul nods, muttering a ‘yeah, yeah, sure, go ahead’ just before you reach for the small cylindrical pen holder to retrieve another one of his pens. “I’ll take that,” he says, holding out his free hand to you in order to take the used up pen. When you reach out and set it down into his waiting palm, he inhales a sharp breath at the feel of your fingertips against his skin. “Would you,” he starts, eyes snapping up to meet yours, “maybe want to grab some lunch? If you haven’t eaten already, that is.” God, had he even bothered to check the time? What time _is_ it?

His gaze shifts to look at the clock on the wall. 11:42. Good, so he wasn’t late.

You smile, releasing your hold on the pen you’ve deposited into his palm, the new one now held firmly in your grasp as you nod. “Lunch sounds great. I’ll just put this away,” you reply, giving the pen a little shake.

He smiles then, and the expression along causes your breath to hitch your throat. Had you ever seen him smile like that before? Surely you would have remembered if you had. You turn to grab your things and place your pen on the desk, and by the time you turn back around, he’s already up and out of his chair, waiting to accompany you to out of the office and to his car.


	2. Chapter 2

The very ends of your fingertips catch on Paul’s when you lean away from him, arms outstretched and fingers grasping desperately at one another’s until the very moment where you both _must_ let go. But, as Paul draws you back in, your fingers once again sliding along his, palms meeting when your hands wrap around each other’s, you can’t help but smile at him in that shy way that he’s come to love so much. It’s endearing, he thinks, seeing you like this.

His hand shifts to take hold of your fingers, lifting the back of your hand up towards his mouth, lips caressing your knuckles gingerly before pressing a kiss there. Paul’s eyes never waver from your own, even as you bite your bottom lip to stifle the already widening smile.

“I had fun tonight,” you finally tell him when he lowers your hand away from his mouth.

“I did too.”

It was a simple night out, just a nice meal together at one of the local Italian joints. Paul had still been in his work attire, which had actually worked out perfectly considering you’d gotten dressed up all nice for him. 

Even now as you’re standing in front of your front door, neither of you wants to be the first to let go of the other, and the two of you can’t help but laugh at the realization. His thumb sweeps across the back of your hand and you give him a little squeeze in return, both of you just smiling at one another, completely infatuated and head over heels.

“Do you want to do this again,” Paul asks, the unmistakable sound of hope tinting his voice.

Your smile widens and you’re quick to nod, never wanting to leave him doubting a thing between you two. “Tomorrow?”

You know his schedule as well as you can, know how it changes all the time. But you also know that he’s due to leave, fly out to Colorado for some work in Denver in two days. A going away meal would be nice, you think.

He thinks so too.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s cold in Fiola Mare, the small restaurant that sits just on the Potomac. So cold, in fact, that goosebumps have begun to form along your arms, and Paul can even feel the chill beneath his tweed jacket and layers of clothing. But you, you’ve chosen nothing more than a navy popover cocktail dress, shoulders and collarbones exposed to the chilled air.

Paul notes the slight way that you shiver, doing your best to play it off as if there’s no chill at all. But he is, if nothing else, a gentleman, and he cannot allow you to sit there so uncomfortably, even despite your best efforts to show otherwise.

“ **You must be freezing** ,” he says, making a show of it, his own shoulders giving a slight shiver. He shrugs off his jacket then, and you open your mouth to protest, but he’s already up and out of his chair, jacket in hand. “ **Here** ,” he starts, already beginning to drape the jacket around your shoulders, “ **take this**.”

The garment envelopes you in its sheer size, wrapping you up in its warmth that still lingers from his body heat. Thanking him, you slip your arms into the sleeves of the jacket and hug it closer to yourself, and in doing so, you’re able to catch the faintest hints of patchouli. It’s a lovely, inviting scent, one that makes you want to bury your nose into the fabric and breathe the scent of him in. But you refrain.

He likes it, he decides when he rounds the table again to take his seat; likes seeing you wrapped up in his jacket, likes knowing that he’d been able to give you a reprieve from the cold air that circulates here in the restaurant. But even more so, he likes knowing that this simple gesture, this jacket, acts as if some sort of sign that says _you're his_.


	4. Chapter 4

The metal of the small office chair groans in protest at the weight of both you and Paul as you straddle him, knees knocking uncomfortably against the arms of the chair. Smoke billows from your mouth as your lips hover mere centimeters from his, and he inhales the cloud ease and _fuck_ , how he loves this; loves knowing that he shouldn’t be doing this, least of all in his office. But you’re here and how could he possibly say no to you? Especially when you’re rocking those pretty hips of yours, seeking out the friction you so desperately need against the seam of his slacks.

It’s late, and dusk has already settled over Fort Meade, Maryland, but Paul knows that the building’s still plenty full of employees; employees that, much like him, spend their time well into the night to get shit done. “I— _hnggg,_ ** _fuck_** ,” he chokes out when you rock your hips again, his own rolling up to meet yours, his lips twitching up slightly when he hears how your breath hitches in response. “ **I wanna fuck you right against the glass** ,” he says just before nipping at your bottom lip, “ **so everyone sees how good you take it**.”

A whimper slips past your lips at the thought, cunt clenching around nothing, and _fuck_ , you’re _so wet_ for him. “Please.” One word, whispered into the quiet of the office, swallowed up by his mouth when it meets yours.

This kiss is all lips, tongue, and teeth as one of his hands glide along the curve of your ass, the other dipping beneath the hem of your skirt. The pads of his fingers graze along the fabric of your underwear and—

“ _Fffuck_ ,” he groans into your mouth at the slick that covers them. He hasn’t even made it past the barrier of the fabric yet and he’s already soaked. Paul’s cock twitches in anticipation, straining against his slacks and begging for release.

You reach down to begin undoing the button and zipper of his pants, but his hand comes down to slap yours away. “Window,” he instructs, his half-lidded gaze taking in your already flushed appearance. “Now.”

Doing as you’re told, you slide off of his lap and make your way towards the floor to ceiling windows that line the whole floor. Paul’s close behind, crowding you up against the glass, sandwiching you between it and him. His hands skim up along the smooth skin of your thighs, fingers soon grasping at the hem of your skirt to pull it up until it bunches around your waist. His foot sweeps out your right leg, widening your stance while his hands disappear for a moment to undo his slacks.

He takes a step back, just enough to get a good look at you as he frees his cock from his slacks, stroking the length of his as he takes in the sight of you still pressed up against the glass. “Fuck, you look—”

“Fuck me, Paul,” you interject, breath fogging up a spot of the glass near your mouth when you speak. “Please.” The word is more that of a whine than anything else, and how can he possibly deny you when you beg so prettily for him?

Paul steps forward again, one hand still gripping his cock while the other moves to reach between your legs and pull aside the soft fabric of your underwear to reveal your glistening cunt. He teases the head of his cock along your slick folds, inching it in and groaning when your greedy little cunt tries to suck him in further.

“ _Fffuuu_ —” He can barely think with how tight you are, and if it feels this good with only the head of his cock in you, he can only imagine what it’ll feel like once he’s fully buried within you. “You like this,” he goads, inching further into you slowly, slowly, slowly whilst he speaks. “Like putting yourself on display while I fuck you.”

He feels it then, the way you flutter around him, urge him on with a soft sigh that’s quickly followed up with a moan. His hips still once he’s fully sheathed in your warmth, allowing you to adjust to his size, and to give himself a brief reprieve from the way you’re already clenching and throbbing against his cock.

Finally, he draws back stopping only once the head of his cock catches, hips then snapping forward into your own. He sets a fast, rough pace, the sound of skin slapping skin reverberating into the otherwise quiet office, your body jolting up against the glass with each forceful thrust. Paul’s hand slides around to your front, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear in search of your clit. He circles the tiny, swollen bud, applying just the right amount of pressure as he uses his other hand to angle your hips back, cock searching for that sensitive spot inside you.

He knows when you cry out, cunt squeezing him, that he’s found it, and the obscene squelch of his cock driving deeper into you only serves to fuel him on. It doesn’t take long until you’re falling over the brink, your orgasm rocking you with such ferocity that your thighs tremble and fingers curl against the glass, forehead pressed against it as your eyes shut tightly. He hears it when you call out his name, feels it when you squeeze him tighter, and it only takes him a few more thrusts until he’s falling off the edge with you. He cums with a shout, hips stilling as he buries himself deep, so deep within you, his head dropping down to rest against your shoulder, breath heavy and body trembling.

He knows he shouldn’t have done this, not here. But with you, how could he ever say no?


	5. Chapter 5

The automatic lock to the office door clicks and beeps to alert Paul to an incoming body who, he assumes, to be just another coworker of his. He’d had his head down all day, hunched over his desk, eyes strained and tired while he poured over page after page of intelligence reports, analyzing the data within. He’s so deep into his work that not only has he failed to notice the time, but he nearly misses when you set down the bag from Lima’s—his favorite Peruvian chicken spot.

It isn’t until you shuffle some of his files around and clear yourself a spot on his desk to perch yourself up on that he looks up from his work. You can’t help but smile at how his glasses have slid halfway down the bridge of his nose, and before he can move to fix them, you do it for him. Gently, you reach for him, fingers gingerly pushing the frames back up onto his face to sit properly.

“How’d you get in,” he asks, curious but still very much glad that you’re here.

“Stanley,” you say, thumbing over your shoulder toward the door, referencing the security guard, “was kind enough to escort me up here. He tried to call, but...”

Your gaze shifts over to the phone that sits atop his desk, a hand reaching over to tap the display screen that holds a large ‘DND’ at the bottom right hand corner.

Paul smiles sheepishly up at you, leaning back in his seat. “Right. Sorry. I’ve just been so swamped, I thought if I put it on do not disturb—”

“You’d get your work done quicker, I know.” You know as well as he does that he doesn’t want to be here any later than he normally is. It’s rare that he gets home early, and he tries, _really tries_ to be home before six or seven, and he just works _so hard_. “I figured you haven’t eaten yet, and judging by the looks of it, I was right. Spare some time to eat together?”

He smiles broader now, head nodding as he lifts a hand to push back his hair. “For you? I can spare all the time in the world.”


	6. Chapter 6

The night with Paul had gone every bit as you’d expected and anticipated; the two of you eating out at one of DC’s fine dining establishments, followed by a stroll through the Georgetown Waterfront Park. And now the two of you find yourself back at the front door to your old, federal townhouse. You’re standing on the first bricked step, standing at just about Paul’s height, hand held in his as you two smile at one another.

“So,” you start, your voice soft and melodic to those ears of his. “Denver.”

He huffs out a gentle laugh, head nodding in return. “Only until Saturday. I have some data to review, people to meet with. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’ll be back before you even know I’ve left.”

Paul takes a step closer, and you lean in slightly, as if pulled to him by some unseen force. Your free hand lifts to pick at the lapel of his jacket and he brings his up to stop the fidgeting movement. “Maybe when I get back we can do this again,” he says, hopeful that you’ll want to.

You do. Of course you do.

You haven’t let go of his hand since you’d left the restaurant, and so, you nod, the smile still etched onto your face. “I’d like that.”

He smiles too, the two of you leaning in so slowly toward one another, his gaze dipping down to your mouth. Your lips meet his in a tender kiss, his hand leaving yours to reposition itself on your waist, drawing you closer to the edge of the step, closer to _him_.

Saturday can’t come soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

This was not at all how your night was meant to go. You should be home, tucked away under a warm blanket on the couch, comfort food in hand and Netflix streaming on the television. But instead, here you are, your neighbor’s arm around your waist and your hand on his chest while you flash your biggest smile for his parents as you say your goodbyes and good nights.

He’d all but begged for your help when he’d seen you checking your mail earlier in the day, the two of you having become fast friends ever since you’d moved into the townhouse that butts up against his own. His parents had come into town for an unexpected visit and he’d wanted to impress, and the only thing lacking in his life was....well, you...though those weren't the words he’d told you.

His fake girlfriend for one night, that’s what you’d agreed to. But now that you’re here, tucked up against him, head tilting to look up at him while his mother drones on and on about happy she is that you’re with him, you can’t help but think maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if this wasn’t fake. If this was real.

Paul can feel it, feel the way you’re looking at him, and he turns his head to give you his attention, his mother’s words fading into the background as he leans down to kiss you. It’s for effect, you think. He’s just doing this to add to the illusion.

Or is he?


	8. Chapter 8

He can feel it, the way that your muscle twitches beneath the skin of your stomach when the tip of his nose ghosts over the spot there. A smile stretched across his face when you laugh, hands meekly pushing at his head to get him to move to a different spot.

“ **That tickles** ,” you remark. But he knows. Of course he does, how could he not when all the signs are so blatantly obvious. That’s why he does it, though. Does it to hear that sweet laughter of yours. He can never get enough of the sound.

He also loves when the sound morphs, shifts into those even sweeter moans of yours when his face dips between the apex of your thighs, much like now. His lips press gentle kisses to the soft, tender skin at the inside of your thighs and he can feel it then, feels how your fingers curl into his hair to grip the tendrils and hold on tight.

You inhale a gasp when his mouth finally meets your slick folds, the tip of his nose nudging against your clit as he sucks and licks at the slick that coats your lips. He can feel the way your hands grip him tighter, can see the way your back arches and can hear the moans you expel out into the room. He loves this, hearing his name fall from your lips, loves knowing that it’s him and only him who can bring you such a sweet release.

But most of all, he loves you.


	9. Chapter 9

You do your best to wait for him, you swear you do. You know that Paul works late more often times than not, and most nights you can wait, can hold off until he gets home. But tonight... Oh, but tonight you simply cannot.

The longer the night draws on without him and the attention he so constantly lavishes you with, the stronger your desire grows, until the throb of your clit is too much to ignore. Your hand dips beneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, hips bucking at the contact of your fingers against your already sensitive clit. A gasp is inhaled, and your back arches as you touch yourself, fingers working tight, quick circles against the sensitive bud.

You don’t even hear him when he comes in, your moans and constant cries for him drowning out the soft click of the front door when he shuts it. It isn’t until the creak of the floorboard at the threshold of the bedroom sounds that you’re pulled from your thoughts, a startled yelp sounding as you tear your hand away from yourself. You find him there, tie half undone and eyes dark as the night sky, his pupils blown with the desire he feels for you, the image of you touching yourself forever imprinted onto his brain.

“Don’t stop,” he says, his already deep voice lowering another octave. “I want to watch you do it again.”

“You want to watch me do what again,” you ask, feigning innocence.

“Kitten, don’t make me tell you twice.” There’s an edge to his voice, one that causes your cunt to clench around nothing, and you find yourself whimpering at the empty sensation.

You do as you’re told, hand slipping back beneath the soaked fabric of your underwear, fingers resuming their precious movements as you maintain eye contact with him. Paul palms his already half hard cock through his slacks while he watches.

It won’t be long now until your fingers are replaced with his own.


	10. Chapter 10

The pad of Paul’s thumb traces along your bottom lip, hips rolling against your own to push his cock deeper into you when your head dips to capture his thumb between your teeth.

He doesn’t miss it, the way you inhale the soft gasp at the sensation of him filling you further, stretching you in a way that only he can. When your lips close to wrap around his thumb, he presses the pad down against your tongue, hips drawing back simultaneously to nearly pull out of you entirely. It’s slow, methodic, the way he’s fucking you now. Some nights you need this. Tonight, you both do.

“ **Call me selfish** ,” he groans just as he rocks back into you, “ **but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.** ”

He feels it then, the way your cunt clenches and flutters around him, sucking him in further; knows that you like it when he tells you such things. He’s the only one you want touching you, he knows that, but hearing that possession coming from his own mouth, well that does things to you like nothing else can.


	11. Pull Over

Fingertips dance delicately across the top of Paul’s thigh, the muscle jumping beneath your touch. Your eyes are focused on the road ahead of the two of you whilst he drives, taking in the scenery as it passes by at a quick pace, though your attention is quickly diverted by the feeling of Paul’s hand on yours.

He curls his fingers to get a firm grasp on your hand, and your head turns to look over at him. Paul takes his eyes off the road for only a fraction of a minute, looking over to you with a semi-stern look. “ _Honey_ ,” he warns, the words holding no heat to them.

You can’t help but smile as he lifts your joined hands, pressing his lips to your knuckles in a chaste kiss just prior to releasing his hold on you, his eyes returning to the road again. You’d been teasing him for practically the entire ride upstate, and the closer you get to your weekend getaway, the worse the teasing’s become.

Both of you focus on the road now, the smile still playing on your lips as you allow more time to pass in silence, fingers still itching to touch him. It isn’t long until you’re reaching for him again, palming his half hard cock through the slacks that he wears. A soft huff puffs out through Paul’s nose, his jaw clenching, muscles ticking visibly with the restraint. 

" **If I have to pull over, you won't be able to walk next week** ," he bites out, gaze flitting over to where you sit, though he makes no move to remove your hand from where it lies.

It’s only a partially empty threat. He won’t pull over. You’re nearly at your destination, after all. But, oh, how he’ll make sure he follows through with the latter half of his words once you arrive.


	12. I'll Be Watching You

You look so pretty, sitting there in your home office, fingers delicately tapping away at the keys of your computer’s keyboard while your eyes scan the screen of your monitor; the very same monitor that Paul’s watching you from now, peering at you through the camera that he’s turned on with a few simple keystrokes from his own computer.

He loves watching you, the way that your brow dips and creases when you concentrate, sometimes huffing out a breath in exasperation when you can’t find just what it is you’re searching for. He can see that to. He’s privy to everything: your searches, your history, the tracking he’s tapped into on your phone, he knows everything about you even if all you know is that he’s your neighbor, one that’s good with computers. He made sure you knew that small fact about him, needed you to know so that when he makes his next move you’ll know who to turn to.

Paul watches as you lift a hand, rubbing absentmindedly at your collarbone. He’ll touch that spot soon enough, he thinks to himself, his own fingers typing away to enter a command into the program he’s currently running. With just a few strokes of his keys, he effectively enacts ransomware, rendering your computer inoperable. Even still, he can see you through the camera, is watching when you curse to yourself in disbelief, a brief moment of panic crossing over your features.

Whatever will you do now?

The camera feed shuts off when you close your laptop, and Paul knows now what’s to come. He pushes himself away from his desk, clammy palms swiping down along the tops of his jean-clad thighs. Above him, the doorbell rings, the sound sending his pulse into overdrive as adrenaline courses through his veins. Rising up from his seat, he emerges from the basement to make his way to the front door, pulling it open to reveal you on the other side.

Just as he’d planned.

“Hi.” The greeting is accompanied with a sheepish smile. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I seem to have clicked a wrong link or something,” you say, lifting your laptop up, “and now I think I have a virus. Do you have some time? I was hoping you could help me before I try one of those companies that’ll charge me an arm and a leg.”

Paul smiles, a chuckle following as he steps aside and opens the door further to allow you entry. “There isn’t a virus I can’t wipe,” he says proudly. “Come on in, I’ve got plenty of time.”

He closes the door when you step inside, the deadbolt clicking into place.

If only you knew…

But you will, soon enough.


	13. Home Early

Paul sees it almost immediately, the stress on your face when you step past the threshold of the door; your brows creased, shoulders hunched, and mouth pulled downward into a frown as you set your things down and slip off your shoes.

“Rough day,” he asks just as he rises up from his spot on the couch, setting aside the book he’d had his nose buried in only a moment ago.

You respond with a nod, and he takes the opportunity to rest his hands atop your shoulders, thumbs already beginning to press and swirl against you to loosen the tension there. Gently, he leads you to the couch, making you sit cross-legged and sideways on it so that he can sit behind you, his hands never once leaving you until your shoulders loosen once the stress fades.

“Better?” Paul leans in to press soft kisses along your neck, hands wandering down to your sides to hold you close.

“Much,” you respond with a sigh, leaning back against him.

He hums in approval, happy that he can help alleviate the tension, if only for the night. “Good,” he says, the word muffled by his lips on your skin. His arms move to wrap around your waist, keeping your back pressed against his chest as he huffs out a breath of air through his nose.

“What are you doing home so early?” Your head turns when you ask, your lips hovering so close to his own.

Paul smiles, giving your lips a quick peck before responding. “All caught up for once.”

A smile of your own stretches across your face, and only then do you fully relax, each muscle in your body losing any and all tension they once held mere moments ago.


	14. Almost Home

“How close are you, Paul?”

The breathy tone of your voice has Paul’s cock straining painfully against his slacks, his foot pressing down on the gas just that much more to speed down the straightaway to get home to you sooner.

“Almost home, sweetheart,” he replies, barely able to focus on anything other than the soft pants and heady moans that fill the car through the blue tooth. His hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter, knuckles turning white as the skin grows taught over the bone. “How close are _you_?”

He’s asking something different of you entirely, this you know, and you can’t help but smile to yourself as you turn your head to moan into the receiver yet again. “So close,” you reply, fingers working quickly against your clit, bringing you closer and closer to your release.

Paul can hear it, the way that you whimper and whine, and he has to pull one hand from the steering wheel to palm his cock to relieve the ache. “Good girl. I’m on our street now,” he says, turning the car to pull onto the familiar road. “I want you to cum for me. Let me hear you.”

You lower the phone down to where your fingers work, the _slick slick slick_ sound of them against your clit filling Paul’s car. He groans to himself, cock twitching in his slacks when he turns the car yet again, this time to pull into the driveway.

“That’s my good girl. Fuck. I’m hanging up now, I’ll be in in a minute.”

He ends the call with a press of a button, turning off the car and making a hasty entrance into the home. Paul’s quick to slip out of his shoes, abandoning them at the door before he makes his way upstairs to where you are, still laying on the bed, chest heaving and eyes cast at the doorway when he enters.

Paul sheds his suit jacket, letting the material crumple to the floor when he steps towards the bed, hands grasping the sweater vest to do the same once he’s pulled it up and over his head, careful not to skew his glasses. “ **Spread your legs** ,” he instructs, hands now moving to undo some of the buttons on his shirt. “ **I want to feel how turned on I made you**.”

You do as he asks, legs parting to reveal yourself to him. He doesn’t even have to feel, he can _see_ it, how your cunt glistens in the light with your fresh arousal. His cock gives another jump at the sight, and he closes the gap until he’s on the bed with you, fingers exploring the slick heat of your cunt, tongue and lips exploring your still overly sensitive clit. 

He’ll make you cum again just from this, and then, he decides, that he’ll make you cum a third time on his cock.


End file.
